Chapter 6

Guidance

Lsyara felt no fatigue. Her body felt as if she'd only just awakened from a good sleep, though she'd spent the night staring at the canopy of the forest, listening to the sounds of the nighttime woodland around her. It was strangely soothing as she sat there crying. Heeding Jaheira's advice, she embraced her tears, let them flow, holding nothing back. And yet the pain she was expecting, was quietly hoping for, still remained absent.

"Lathander, why can't I feel?" she whispered through her sobs. Quietly, she began to pray, for herself, for the redemption of her tainted blood; for Gorion's soul, though it would now be with Oghma; for Imoen and the denizens of Candlekeep, that they'd all somehow come to understand those deaths were not murder, but simple self-defense. She swore to herself, and to her god, that she would never murder. Any death she dealt would be to protect herself, someone she loved, or an innocent. "Please… help me feel," she beseeched her god.

And Lathander answered.

It felt like a warmth building just over her shoulder, as if the sun was rising behind her though dawn was still at least an hour away. It grew, warmer and hotter until she doubled over and pressed her face to the ground just to feel the cool earth against her cheek. And then the wall holding back her emotions snapped like a beaver dam trying to stand before a tsunami. Everything she'd been holding back from herself came crashing home, and her tears redoubled.

The warmth receded, but the wall remained gone. She bawled, thinking of her father, her real father, the man who had taught her right from wrong and given up so much to watch over her. And she thought of her sire, the distant, long-dead entity that completely repulsed her. She shoved thoughts of the latter away violently. Perhaps the armored fiend had been a servant of Cyric, Bhaal's successor; or of her sire Bhall; or even one of her brethren that Jaheira had mentioned; she didn't know and she didn't care. All she did know was that the brute had taken her father from her simply because he couldn't reach her.

She wanted to make him pay. Part of her wanted to revisit the pain he'd inflicted on Gorion a thousand fold. Part of her just wanted to make sure that he didn't have the opportunity to steal away some other young woman's daddy. She couldn't decide which part of her was greater, but the memory of Gorion's gentle smile made her realize that he wouldn't have wanted her to think of vengeance, so she tried her best to drive it from her mind.

It didn't go easily. The sun was coming up, the gloom around her brightening visibly when she finally managed to right herself. She found Jaheira sitting in front of her, cross legged, and Khalid sitting at his wife's side. Even Imoen was awake, leaning against a tree and watching her with a sympathetic smile.

"Feeling better?" the druid asked.

"Yes…" Lysara replied, smiling and wiping mud from her cheeks where tears had mixed with dirt before emitting a loud sniff. "I feel."

They all smiled. She even got the impression that Khalid was, though it was impossible to tell. They broke camp quickly, though she insisted on saying her morning prayer. By and large they hadn't put a camp down to begin with, which made the task easier. They rode quickly, returning to the main road and turning south. Jaheira seemed determined to make up for the time they'd spent laying about the inn.

"Tell me," Jaheira said when she was satisfied they were alone on the road. "How much do you know of your own heritage?"

"Apparently there's a king or some sort of long-removed nobility in my ancestry, on my mother's side," Lysara replied, "And a dead god on my father's."

"I was referring to your people, to your elven forefathers."

"Bits and pieces," she answered, "Enough to recognize items crafted by my people, and I know a bit of their written language and can speak a few sentences; but I know nothing about their customs or history. I don't even know what kind of wood elf I am."

"My guess, based on what Gorion told me of your mother, would be that she was from Suldanessalar, but I do not know for certain. It is just little things, a saying here, a quote there."

"You said you know something about my… singing?" Lysara asked.

"A little," the druid answered. "I was raised among druids, and a few of your kind were among those who cared for me as a child. Know you what that song was?"

"No. I haven't a clue."

"It is a salute to the sun and moon, a bit of nonsense about one of the old gods of the sun chasing Selûne, always trying to catch her, and she always slipping just out of his reach."

"Why now? I can understand… just from standing in the forest far from roads and buildings, I can feel it. But why is it so powerful, so often?"

"Your mother's blood sings in you – no pun intended - in the natural domain of her forebears. I cannot imagine that Gorion took you on trips very often?" Jaheira only waited for Lysara to shake her head before continuing. "I thought not. Perhaps it is occurring so frequently now because it was pent-up for all the years you've been kept behind walls. It is as good an explanation as any. I once knew a wood elf who worshipped Eilistraee. She never went indoors unless she absolutely had to. But one time, she and I, and our other companions of the moment got stuck underground for almost two tendays, near as we could reckon when we emerged. She spent five days straight singing without a break."

"Was it anything like…"

"She couldn't carry a tune at all. Worst sound we ever had to endure," Jaheira supplied, "I had to scratch my nails across a chalkboard to drown her out so that the others could get some sleep."

Lysara shuddered at the thought of such a cacophony, and then realized that the older woman was joking, and put on a smile while forcing a chuckle for politeness's sake.

"When we stop tonight I will have another look at that shoulder of yours. Khalid tells me you were having some pains yesterday morning."

"That's kind of you," Lysara replied. "It was just a twinge, really."

"And if you have a 'twinge' like that while we're fighting for our lives, it could develop into a split skull for everybody," Jaheira retorted sharply.

"I'm not arguing. You'll have your look."

The ride itself was uneventful for the rest of the day. They trotted the horses for a while, then walked them for a while, before trotting them again, never seeing or hearing another soul moving along the road. Lysara found this rather unnerving, since this was supposed to be a major passway between the southern and northern sections of the Sword Coast. Around noon, they passed a small cabin that Jaheira didn't even try to move around. Lysara could see from two hundred paces away that it was deserted, though the door was shut and nothing looked out of place. It just looked… old and unused. Perhaps an hour after nightfall, Jaheira led them off the road, following a small creek for a while.

"Things are really bad, aren't they?" Lysara asked while Jaheira cast another mending spell on her formerly wounded shoulder. There was just a small scar, barely visible, where the bolt had pierced her flesh, and it felt as if she'd never been hurt in the first place.

"You're fully healed," Jaheira replied.

"I was talking about things which are not me," Lysara countered, drawing Imoen's attention from that magic book she had taken to studying every time they stopped. "I didn't see anyone at all today besides us."

"Yes, child, things are bad, as you've said," the druid answered as Lysara re-laced her blouse.

"Even local trade in this section of the Sword Coast has been affected," Khalid supplied, his back to Lysara as he watched the darkened woods. "No one wants to venture a day's travel out of their home towns for fear they'll be taken by the bandits, or hobgoblins or gnolls. Many won't go an hour's ride away if they can help it."

"I thought the more monstrous races kept away from roads and towns," Lysara said.

"They usually do," Imoen supplied, joining the conversation. "But sometimes they're 'persuaded' to raid a settlement, or do a bit of banditry of their own. Their gods also demand a certain amount of bloodletting periodically."

"Learning a lot from your book, I see," Jaheira commented.

"Turns out the man who penned it knows a lot. I'm pretty sure you've met him. Anyway, how much longer until we reach Nashkel?"

"We'll swing around Bereghost to the east, then rejoin the road once we're clear of the farms. No more than twelve days if we can maintain a good pace."

"Why avoid Bereghost?" Lysara asked. The answer occurred to her just as Jaheira started speaking.

"For your sake," she said simply. "Assassins and bounty hunters are far from above trekking into the wilds to catch their prey, but they usually prefer to sight them in a town and make sure they're in the area before going through the trouble of running down every set of tracks they run across."

"I'm going to need spell components," Imoen said carefully.

"You can buy them in Nashkel," Jaheira replied. "or forage for them. We're not going near a town until we get there."

"I've already been doing that. I got a bit of sand from the creek bed, and several sticks with spiderwebbing on it, a few…"

"Spare me, please," the druid said, raising her hand. "One of the reasons I never studied the arcane was the disgusting list of things that a mage needs to carry around."

Lysara wondered just what it was that Jaheira, a druid, would find disgusting, but she kept that thought to herself. Weary from the day's travelling, they accepted their rations and let the matter drop. The food was far from the fare she was used to, but it kept her alive. "I don't suppose you have any soap in the supplies?" she asked when they'd finished eating.

"Of course," Jaheira replied, producing a bar from the pack horse's bags. "Enjoy your bath. I'll make sure Khalid doesn't peek on you, hmm?"

[-]

The soap Jaheira gave her had an herbal, almost earthy scent to it that reminded her quite pleasantly of the forest around them. And it got her clean, though she didn't really like bathing in cold water. She liked not bathing even less. The next few days were downright boring. Up before dawn, they'd have a portion of rations, then mount up - if the terrain allowed - and make their way in a consistently southerly direction. One brief rest at midday, which Lysara usually used to practice either a set of forms or one of her dances; and they were back in the saddle riding south. Jaheira had a knack for knowing where sheltered, secluded little cubbies in the woods were, though Lysara found herself wishing for a campfire. The nights were starting to turn cooler, though they were still far from cold.

"Absolutely not," the druid always said sternly whenever she or Imoen asked. "Fires draw unwanted attention, even this deep in the woods."

"So do horses," Imoen muttered rebelliously.

"The animals I can keep concealed. The light of a fire will draw the eyes of many different creatures, many of whom are less-than-friendly to our kinds." And that was always the end of the argument.

The seventh day, something happened. No sooner had she left her saddle than she heard the howl of a wolf. No sooner had she pulled her bow from its place strapped to her horse than she heard an answering howl, both of which sounded a lot closer than she would like. Jaheira tensed up instantly, bringing her staff to bear and trying to look everywhere at once.

"What's wrong?" Imoen asked. "Just send them packing-"

"I can't touch these wolves," Jaheira interrupted, looking progressively more nervous, and sounding almost scared. "There's no contact, no sense of them in the Balance. Just… rage, and a dead zone where the animals refuse to look. The moon, has anyone seen the moon?"

"I was watching it not long ago," Lysara answered, readying her bow. "It's full… werewolves then?"

Imoen bit off a curse and started chanting. With limited components on hand, she was rather limited in what she could do, but there were some tricks she could play with what she'd been picking up from the forest floor. She'd been practicing her spellwork every night since the Inn.

Khalid had his claymore out, held low in one hand while his other hand held a light crossbow, bolt already fitted and drawn back, and Jaheira's skin took on the texture of tree bark as she kept looking about. Imoen finished chanting and her skin turned to stone, though she could still move. She launched into another spell with barely a pause for breath, producing her small hand mirror that she used each morning before they got started.

"They're close now," Jaheira whispered as the horses whinnied nervously, stamping their hooves. "I'm sure they've got our scent."

Lysara had her back to the others as she scanned the trees for heat patterns that might have been bodies. For no real reason she could think of, she pulled her hood up, covering her ears – tingling yet again - and concealing her face in deep shadow.

"I had heard there was a pack in the region, but their territory is supposed to be miles east of here," the druid stated quietly. Lysara gasped and jumped as about a dozen copies of Imoen sprung into existence. Not just illusions either. They gave off heat as well, and felt solid when she touched one. That copy actually winked at her. Some of the others were crouching, with daggers or a bow, and leather armor, others wore robes like Elminster had worn and brandished a staff. They scattered into the tree line around their party and disappeared into the woods. A few seconds and another chant out of Imoen and she felt an incredible burst of energy coursing through her veins, and her hands started moving faster than she meant them to.

"That will do," Jaheira said before Imoen could start casting again. "Save your energy for the fight. Lysara, Khalid, make sure you alert us before they're upon us."

"Right," they said simultaneously.

A flicker of movement and a low growl came from the other side of a tree just past the perimeter. Lysara raised her bow, pulling back as that translucent blue arrow sprang into being again, sighting down the ethereal shaft at a very large heat source.

"There," she whispered.

"Take it out if you have a shot," the druid ordered. Out of sight, a werewolf yelped and barked.

Lysara needed no further incentive to shoot a monster. Her bow made a soft twang that reverberated in the still air as her arrow arced towards the target. The beast dodged, and the tree her arrow struck gave off a little less heat to her eyes.

Making a soft 'tsk' of annoyance, she drew back again, almost reaching for a quiver she wasn't wearing reflexively. She aimed to the right of where the beast was moving, and let fly, striking it in the center of its chest. It shrieked, screaming an unholy sound that was cut off abruptly. And then its body stopped putting out heat at all. Apparently her bow fired frost arrows.

Khalid's crossbow clicked, and there was a second sound of pain, though much less significant, followed by the whooshing sound of his claymore cutting through the air. There was the oddest zipping sound, and a third beast shrieked, howling something that sounded almost like a warning. From the southwest another one screamed as a fireball went off, though Lysara was sure that Imoen was facing east. Apparently her copies had some of her skills as well.

An odd creaking to her right drew Lysara's attention, and she saw another two werewolves, one pinned by vines wrapping around its lower legs up to the knee and continuing to climb, and the other so totally entrapped by the embrace of a tree's limbs that it looked to be struggling to breathe. She turned forward, finding her arc apparently clear, and turned towards Khalid, drawing back again.

Before she could begin to sight on the creature he was fighting, yet another beast crashed into her, bearing her to the ground and knocking her bow from her grasp. There was little she could do except squeal and try to reach for her dagger, which she brought up as quickly as she could.

Her blade cut through the beast's flesh and the tattered remains of its clothes with equal ease. It howled, its jaws coming perilously close to her skin before it backed away, warded off by her blade mere inches from its muzzle. Hot, sticky liquid splashed over her, and she shut her mouth against the blood pouring from the man-beast. A set of five purple balls of light collided with its chest, sending it staggering even as she regained her feet, her other weapon in hand.

The forest behind her erupted in a flash of multicolored light, momentarily blinding her night sight, and her horizontal slash missed. The beast tried to swat her hand out of the way, but her dagger intercepted it, drawing blood and forcing it to back off again.

"How many more of you are there?" Lysara muttered, leading with a feinted dagger stab. Its claws almost bit her flesh as she recoiled, bringing her short sword down in a diagonal slash that opened its chest from left shoulder to right hip. It screamed and tried to back away, but she whipped her sword about, stepping forward and launching a backhanded slash that cleaved the brute's head from its shoulders.

She only spared the corpse enough attention to snap-kick it mid chest and make sure it fell away from her. Nothing she'd ever heard about werewolves suggested they could survive decapitation. Jaheira's magic had crushed her foes, and she was helping Imoen, immobilizing targets for her to finish off with arcane power. Khalid was fending off the claws and jaws of another, three bodies in front of him. He was fighting defensively and counterattacking ineffectively when he saw the chance. The beast was just too fast, since Imoen's haste spell had worn off. Lysara unceremoniously dropped her blades and retrieved her discarded bow, drawing back and aiming carefully, waiting for her chance.

The beast dropped under Khalid's slash, punching forward with two clawed fists and bashing him backward, sending the armored warrior tripping on a tree root. He tumbled backwards, out of her line of fire, and she let fly. Coming up on his feet, Khalid's body languages suggested surprise as he found his enemy already dead, a block of ice in werewolf shape. Neither of them stopped to complain though, but turned to find that the fight was over. Imoen sent a large yellow sphere flying at the last of the werewolves just as Lysara had sighted on it. It yawned and dropped its guard, apparently dozing, and Jaheira bashed its skull in. As suddenly as they'd started, her ears stopped tingling.

All of them took long, cautious turns until they had each surveyed the surrounding forest. The sound of night creatures returned a minute after the last beast had died. Only after she was satisfied that their enemies were expended did she crouch down to retrieve her blades.

They weren't there.

"Was anyone bitten?" Jaheira demanded. Imoen chuckled, her voice a bit more gravelly than normal, but denied having been bitten. Khalid was right on top of her, but Lysara didn't answer immediately, focusing on peering at the ground.

"Were you bitten?" the druid demanded again, grabbing the elf by the arm.

"No," Lysara replied distractedly. "Help me find my blades, would you? I could have sworn I dropped them right here…"

"Try looking on your hips girl," Jaheira scolded. "And answer me when I ask you something like that. I heard you scream."

Lysara blinked, looking first at Jaheira, then fingering what she'd expected to be empty scabbard mouths, surprised as she felt instead the cross guards and hilts of her short sword and dagger, neatly back in their sheaths.

"I'll be an imp's aunt," she said before realizing that she might very well be just that. "I swear I dropped them… right, thanks for the concern, but I'm fine."

"And you're surprised they returned to their sheaths? The sheaths themselves returned to you, after all. Come, if no one's been… hurt… we'll find another spot to camp tonight."

Lysara blinked as the memories of the last few minutes struck home, and the carnage around her took root in her mind. She had to fight to keep the bile down, and walked in what she hoped was a dignified manner away from the gore and the spilled blood. She'd trained for situations like this – not, perhaps, with werewolves in mind – and she'd done precisely as she'd been trained to do. She ought to have felt some sort of pride, but she was just disgusted. And in her mind each of the inhuman beasts wore the faces of those first two men that she'd killed back in Candlekeep.

When they'd stopped again a mile off, Lysara found claw marks – at least she hoped they were made by claws – on her dagger arm while she was emptying her stomach. Muttering, she bandaged them up at first, before a weird idea occurred to her.

"Wow that fight took a lot out of me," Imoen commented as she lowered herself against a tree. Lysara drew her dagger, whittling down a piece of a fallen tree branch until she had a smooth, flat disc that was more or less round.

"I s-should think s-s-o. A s-single simulacrum is hard enough for an advanced mage to create, you made twelve," Khalid put in as he hobbled the horses. Lysara carefully carved the symbol of Lathander into the face of the disc she'd just made. The blade cut through the fallen wood as easily as it had through her enemy's vestigial clothing, rendering the process easy.

"Eh, not exactly," Imoen replied. Jaheira was just looking at Lysara's actions with curiosity. "A simulacrum is a single exact copy of an existing person. The spell I used created a small set of… for lack of a better word, Imoens that could yet be."

She had even less idea why she'd done it than she did what Imoen meant, but once she had, she just put her knife away and clenched the token between her hands, muttering a soft prayer even as she envisioned herself watching the dawn, reaching out her hand towards it.

"Could yet be?" Khalid echoed.

"Don't ask," Imoen replied. "I'm not really sure I understand it completely myself."

Warmth and life filled her in an instant as Lathander answered her murmured prayer. Her left arm itched for just a moment, and then the sensations passed. Removing the bandage showed her the smooth, scarless skin she was used to seeing when she washed.

"So first you're a warrior, and now a priestess?" Jaheira asked from over her shoulder. "I've never heard of someone carving their own holy symbol. But if it works…"

Lysara knew that the older woman was right. This was the second time that she'd prayed for aid from her god and been answered, and the token that she'd carved was warm, so very warm, as she pressed it into the palm of her hand. It was comforting, knowing that a divine presence acknowledged her existence, and was willing to grant her help when she needed it. "I guess," she answered.

"May I see that?" Jaheira requested.

Lysara hesitated a moment, and then handed it over. The druid foraged around on the forest floor for a few moments, before coming up with a tangle of vines that she spent several minutes muttering over. When she was done, she handed the token back to Lysara, who found that it had what appeared to be a woven vine growing right out of the once again living wood. She slipped it over her head and arranged it in place around her neck.

"Thank you, Jaheira," Lysara said.

"You are welcome, Priestess of the Dawn," the druid answered.

[-]

She stood outside the gates of Candlekeep, staring hungrily into the keep. Even as she stared, the gate melded itself into a solid wall, as did all of the windows in turn looking out from the keep as she turned her gaze to them. She contemplated scaling the walls, but as she did, she noticed a raven perched atop the battlements. Though it was dark, and the distance great, she just knew it was there. And she knew it was the same raven that she'd seen in the pool so long ago, and the same raven that had haunted all of her other dreams of late. The creature, so seemingly insignificant, invoked that same dread it always did, and forced her to back away. Turning away from her one-time home, she saw a man standing there waiting for her.

Gorion led her once again away from the walls Candlekeep, stealing out into the night before those two deaths could be attributed to her. He spoke, in the calm, gentle voice that she'd always known, but some inaudible buzzing filled her ears, a barrier between her and the voice, the guidance, that she so desperately craved.

Perhaps it was because she couldn't remember what he'd said that night. Or perhaps it was because that sinister feeling and that voice that she couldn't place but knew she knew were distracting her. She just followed her father, helpless, powerless to change what was coming. She wanted to cry out, to warn him. But her body wouldn't respond. She just walked on and on. But suddenly, Gorion stopped, and gestured at a pathway in the forest that she hadn't noticed before. It sloped downward, curving out of sight, and looked smooth and easy to walk.

Smiling gratefully at her father, she stepped towards it, and just stopped. The armored fiend was visible just at the bend in the path, with his back to her. She didn't know why, but she thought that he didn't seem to be able to go any farther. Growling, she put a hand to her weapon, and looked to her father for permission.

He looked disappointed.

Letting go of her weapon was the hardest thing that she'd ever made herself do. But she did it, accepting this last piece of guidance that he offered her. She understood then, and her mind accepted it as she turned away, resuming the walk that she knew would lead to Gorion's death, and her own suffering. He led her into the clearing, and the scene replayed in her mind just as it had that horrible night.

"You're a fool if you believe I would trust your benevolence," Gorion's voice caught her attention.

He'd known who her attacker was.

The realization hit her like the weight of Netheril. And when she saw him die again, she couldn't suppress her scream, especially since the raven was sitting on the same branch as her. The huge man heard the sound, and stalked in her direction even as she felt herself falling backwards again.

"You will learn," that dark, formless voice said again.

[-]

"He knew!" Lysara squealed as she came awake in her bedroll, sitting bolt upright.

"I beg your pardon?" Khalid asked as Jaheira came awake again instantly. Imoen snorted and pulled her head up from her pillow.

"Whoever knew what can wait another five minutes," Imoen said groggily and lay her head back down.

"Who knew what?" Jaheira demanded right on top of Imoen.

"Father… he knew who it was that was coming after me. I remember now. It was the way he said it. He knew who was wearing that armor!" Lysara declared. "Did he ever mention…"

"No," Jaheira cut in. "He never told us of an enemy that was so very large as to be distinct like that. In our business we had plenty of foes, and stepped on many powerful peoples' toes. But I would remember someone as large as you say. Well, since we're up, we may as well eat and break camp." With that she stood up and pulled the bedroll out from under Imoen, who came up with a yelp.

They were past Bereghost, on their way south between that town and Nashkel, and Jaheira had, for some reason, taken to avoiding travelling directly on the road, though she refused to answer why.

"Is that smoke?" Imoen asked after about two hours' travelling south, pointing to a plume of black that was billowing into the sky.

"I make it to be about a half mile to the east," Lysara said, studying the sky and pulling her bow from its lashings. "We should-"

"We should avoid trouble until we reach Nashkel," Jaheira supplied forcefully.

"It could be a bandit attack," Lysara pressed. "There could still be people that need our help."

"These bandits strike with surprise and overwhelming force," Jaheira insisted. "Far too many for us to handle. And they do not leave survivors."

"But-"

"No, child! We avoid trouble and deal with the tainted mines first."

Lysara glared, then shook her head. "No way in the hells am I sitting by when there's a chance I can help people," she said, dismounting and drawing her hood up. "This cloak will keep me concealed, right? Well I'm going to go have a look. If I can help, I will. Come with me or go your own way."

Jaheira just sat in her saddle, staring at her as if she'd never seen her properly before. "And I am not a child," Lysara added hotly. "Coming, Im?"

"You know it," her best friend replied, dropping down to her side. "Thanks for the horses, but I think you can have them back now, if this is goodbye."

The druid muttered and dismounted as well. "Khalid, hobble the mounts. You know what to look for if we need your help," she said, falling in with Lysara. "Well, what are you waiting for? Lead on."

The ambush wasn't far off. One wagon in a train of seven was aflame, beset by bandits flinging arrow and spell down at the guarded train, who were doing a decent job of defending themselves. Nearly as many corpses were dressed in forest greens and browns as there were in the blue and silver worn by the caravan guards.

"Imoen… check to see if you can find a source of magic big enough to be a portal," Lysara whispered. She could only sense magic herself if she was looking right at something that was putting it off.

Imoen shook her head. "I need a glass circle to cast that spell," she replied. "Since I don't have one I didn't bother memorizing it."

"Portal?" Jaheira asked. "What…"

"The bandits get in and out of their raids before anyone can react to a caravan in trouble, and never leave a trail, right?" Lysara explained. "Do you think that's because they're fast, or if they know patrol schedules, or do you suppose they just skip the whole part where they travel to their target?" Without awaiting a response, she pressed on. "Any of your animal contacts know where these troops are coming from?"

"Southeast, I think. The creatures of the forest…"

"That'll do. There's probably a mage or a priest, likely under heavy guard bringing troops in from their camp or camps. If we shut them down, then the defenders will have a chance."

Holding her bow carefully and keeping her cloak as close about her as she could, she started edging around the ambush site, shadowed by Imoen and Jaheira. A wolf appeared in their path, and Jaheira made a curious gesture at it.

"This one will scout a little ahead for us, and tell me if there are enemies awaiting us," the druid explained.

"I thought rangers were the ones with animal companions," Imoen whispered.

"They bond a single animal for life. I can bond a few for a short term if the need is great enough."

"Quiet," Lysara whispered harshly. To her surprise, both women fell silent at her command.

With the wolf's warnings, they managed to avoid three separate groups of bandits, and came to the base of a small hill. Lysara was no expert, but it looked like the rock formations and crumbling walls at the top of the hill would afford its occupants an unobstructed view of the road, while careful scouts could remain concealed.

"They're up there," Jaheira whispered, her eyes closed. "Seven of them. The wolf says there is only one 'pungent' human, and the rest have 'long, hard claws.'"

"So one mage and six swordsmen to back him up?" Lysara whispered back.

"That's what I gather. Animals think differently. It's sometimes hard to communicate."

"Watch your step. I can see faint emanations, probably wards or magical traps, between us and the top."

"Can you dispel them?"

"Even if I had the components I need, that would just alert the mage. Odds are he's better stocked and a lot more practiced than I am."

"So we need to take him out first, and with as little warning as possible," Lysara surmised. "I wonder if I can hit him from treetop."

"Go ahead and try," Jaheira said, shuddering. "The wolf just tripped a trap."

The possibility of using wildlife to solve their problem occurred to her, but she immediately shoved it away without voicing it. Not only did it require Jaheira's unlikely cooperation, but it was an even more horrid notion than sniping a man who didn't even know she was there. "Alright, I'm going up. I just hope they don't notice me before I get a shot off. Cover me down here."

"I've got your back, Lys," Imoen said, tracing symbols into the dirt around the tree. She started muttering as she did, but Lysara was too busy climbing to even try to listen. Just before she cleared the canopy, she caught a flash of blue light from the hilltop, and froze. Moving her head very, very carefully, she caught sight of it again. A gap in a crumbling wall at the hill's summit gave her a brief view of the portal.

Climbing up as high as she could get, she settled her rear on a branch near the tree's apex, and held very still, very much aware of how clean a target she presented herself. But she also had a view of a man standing in front of the portal, hands stretched out towards it. He was thin, and tall, with tanned skin – what Lysara could see of it – and a bald head, complete with intricate tattoos. His robes were pure scarlet, and he was bedecked with jewelry that Lysara couldn't make out from where she was.

Red Scourge; he was a Thayvian Red Wizard.

None of his companions, whom she also had a view on, appeared to have noticed her. She had to position herself very, very carefully, and remind herself that this man's death was to defend everyone in that caravan, from which a second black smoke plume had risen. Breathing deeply to steel her nerve, she ran her hands along her bow shaft, idly tracing one of the runes with her finger.

And then, bile rising in her throat at what she was about to do, she pulled back, distractedly noting that her arrow was a darker blue, and now had a pulsing white line arcing through it, and sighted the wizard. "Forgive me," she whispered, and let fly.

The thunderclap was as unexpected as it was deafening. She dropped backwards down several branches when she lost her perch in surprise, and barely caught herself. But it quite effectively concealed her from the hilltop. Peeking again through the gap in the wall, she saw no sign of the portal. Either the mage had let his spell fall, or he had been interrupted in maintaining it.

"What in the abyss was that sound?" Jaheira demanded as Lysara's feet touched the ground.

"Thunder," Lysara replied simply. "I've got a theory on why my bow suddenly shoots lighting arrows instead of frost, but right now, we should probably move."

"Did you nail that mage?" Imoen asked. "I sensed a drop in the magic from the hilltop…"

"Don't know, but we can talk about it…"

"I warded this tree, within a few paces. We're safe here if the mage is out of the picture," Imoen assured her. "A few runes and a few words of power."

"Hope you did your work right," Lysara replied, tracing her finger over another rune. She pulled back again, and this time her arrow was a flaming red bolt, until she cautiously released the tension on the string.

"We should join the fight," she said when she'd lowered her bow. "Even with the bandit reinforcements cut off, the caravan is still in trouble."

"The mage is dead, right?" Imoen asked.

"I'm not sure," Lysara admitted. "The recoil knocked me off my perch. I didn't see him get hit or go down." Sighing, she shook her head. "Alright. Let's go make sure he's dead."

"The wards are gone. There's a good chance that he's at least out cold."

Lysara crept cautiously uphill, being very careful to keep the crumbling wall between her and the apex. A… spell suddenly came to mind, as if Lathander himself wanted her to cast it, and she had the wooden disc she'd carved the previous night in hand before she thought about it, mumbling words and envisioning the dawn again. She somehow felt lighter and sturdier at the same time. Hood up, she peeked into the crack in the wall through which she'd first sighted the portal.

The red wizard, headless, lay on his back a half dozen paces from where he'd been struck, limbs splayed out. Six warrior bodies lay spread about the circle, some slumped over broken masonry, others just sprawled out. But all of them showed signs of having been burnt, and the source of the damage was obvious. A crater marked the spot where the portal had stood, scorch marks radiating out in a circle from its perimeter.

"Wow. That's one powerful bow," Imoen whispered as they surveyed the massacre. She stepped out of their meager shelter and went straight for the wizard's body, clearly trying not to retch.

"Likely it was the energy of the portal being disrupted which caused the blast. Perhaps we were lucky and it did the same on the other end," Jaheira put in.

"Imoen, what are you doing?" Lysara demanded at a whisper as her best friend knelt next to the dead mage.

"Wands, scrolls, devices and components," she replied just as quietly. "If he has any, I'll need them very, very soon. Just cutting off the troops isn't enough. We've got to support their defense efforts, or that caravan is doomed."

"I didn't expect you to be so pragmatic," Jaheira commented, peering down the hill towards the ambush. Lysara paced between the north and west overlooks, keeping an eye out for the bandits' two most likely avenues of retreat.

"I don't even recognize half this stuff," Imoen muttered as she rifled through the dead mage's pouches and pockets. "Ooh, wands. Let's see… iron rod, likely lightning… forked grip is a wand of finding… scroll case… pewter with a diamond on the end; cancellation… a bag of holding, goodie. I'll rummage through that later."

Imoen examined the scroll case before breaking the seal, slipping out a large number of scrolls of varying material and presumably varying spells. She pulled out what looked, to Lysara, to be a random series of the parchments she flipped through before putting the rest away.

"This'll do for now," she reported. "Most of his gear is radiating magic, but I don't want to… y'know…"

"That looks like a signet ring," Jaheira said, "on the third finger of his right hand. Take that so we can identify him later."

"Why…"

"Because if Thay is backing the bandits, it goes a long way towards explaining who is behind this crisis. They hadn't even made the list of suspects."

Imoen complied, removing the indicated ring and tossing it to Jaheira, who tucked it into a pouch. "He's likely just a mercenary. Thay doesn't have interests in this part of the world, I don't think. Anyway, we've dallied here long enough. Let's go save some innocents."

"The animals are indicating that they're staging their attacks in waves from groups hidden in the tree line on either side of the road," Jaheira reported. "My guess would be that they're trying to wear down the defenders and constantly hit them from their weakest flank."

"If we take out whichever group is supposed to go next, it might throw them off balance," Lysara suggested. "Khalid's skills would be useful in that."

"He can never sneak up on anyone, and that plan calls for stealth," Jaheira retorted as she pointed down the hill. "There's a group of five, one hundred paces that way."

"Let's take them out then… nice and quiet," Lysara said, dreading what was to come. She set her bow back to frost – at least, she thought she did – and moved as quietly as she could in the direction the druid had indicated.

Imoen and Lysara had grown up playing stealth-related pranks. They both knew how to move without being heard, and apparently Jaheira was just as skilled. Lysara couldn't hear anyone moving near her as they snuck up to a copse. Five humans were inside, all of them archers and all of them facing the caravan, whose defenders were obviously weakening. Lysara nodded to both women, who nodded back, before stepping directly behind the middle man.

"Forgive me," was all the warning she gave them. The first one died even as he spun towards her, her short sword's edge taking his throat. The second lost his life to her dagger piercing his heart. The third, on the first's right, managed to get his bow into a blocking position, but her slashing sword sliced through the flimsy thing and bit deep into his weapon arm. She reversed the grip on her dagger and followed up with a pommel strike to the side of his head, knocking him out.

Directly in front of her as she lowered her last victim to the ground, she saw the fourth one take Jaheira's staff across the shoulders. He cried out as he fell, but the druid used the recoil from the strike to reverse the staff's direction, bringing the other end into his gut and driving the breath from his lungs. Lysara turned to the last, to see him just standing there, as if he couldn't make up his mind to let fly the arrow he had trained on her. His eyes were wide with terror, flitting around the copse, but otherwise not a hair about him stirred.

"That should hold him in place for a while," Imoen commented, drawing her dagger and slicing his bowstring. She picked up a quiver and a bow from one of the dead men and settled them in place about her shoulders.

A horn sounded nearby, its call repeated on the other side of the road.

"They're using horn blasts to coordinate the attack," Lysara stated. Peering carefully across the road, she pointed at a squad of a dozen or so who was pouring arrows at the beleaguered defenders. "I don't suppose you've got a nice fireball for the villains over there?" she asked Imoen.

In response the girl flipped through the scrolls she'd extracted earlier, reading from one in no language Lysara could name and pointing at the target group with her free hand. As soon as the incantation was complete, an orange sphere flew from her hand, striking the ground in the middle of the bandit group and sending an expanding wave of flame out in all directions. Their screams were cut short as most of them died before they could finish.

Lysara's bow claimed both of the men who'd been standing outside the fireball's radius. "Bind them well. We've work to be about and questions to ask them later," she ordered.

They used the bandits' own bootstraps to tie their hands together, Lysara muttering a soft prayer for the one she'd merely wounded before they left. He wasn't all the way healed, just enough to stop the bleeding. They were sure that he, at least, wasn't going anywhere. Attempting to run with the blood he'd lost wouldn't get him very far. Imoen made some mutterings over the bindings and told the men that the cords would cut their hands off if they tried to escape.

Lysara wasn't entirely sure she was bluffing.

The next group had seven men, which was reduced to four by the time their band was through. Lysara didn't kill anyone out of that group, for which she was grateful. Another mage, though this one obviously not a Thayvian, was among the dead in that group, and Imoen's stock of components got a bit bigger.

Next time it was Jaheira's magic that eliminated a squad rushing the other side, as she called a bolt of lightning down from the clear sky directly atop their position. One of the enemy horn men was among the dead, effectively killing their communications. Lysara cut the horn into pieces for good measure, just in case any of the three survivors from that group knew how to use it.

By then, though, the battle was over. What bandits were left seemed to have realized they no longer had the upper hand, and that their reinforcements hadn't shown up for quite some time. Jaheira's animal scouts reported some dozen men fleeing, scattering in every direction with a general focus on east-northeast from the hilltop.